


you're in my veins (and i cannot get you out)

by forbiddenquill



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A lot of shenanigans and mispronouncing of movie references, Bad Girl!Lexa, F/F, Good Girl!Clarke, It's endearingly adorable I hope, based on a prompt I saw on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forbiddenquill/pseuds/forbiddenquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They talk about trivial things and about school and about college but sometimes the silence consumes them. Lexa doesn’t know why Clarke keeps coming back and she doesn’t know why she lets her.</p><p>(or: the one where Lexa is a bad girl with a bad reputation and Clarke is basically everything that could go wrong if they end up in the same room together.)</p><p>(It doesn't go wrong, actually.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're in my veins (and i cannot get you out)

**Author's Note:**

> You know what? I have never written a Modern Clexa AU yet so here it is. This has been sitting in my draft box for who knows how long (a month, actually) and I decided to finish it today. It's rough and messy and unBeta'd but who cares. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Lexa’s propping her feet up the next table and crossing her arms when the door swings open and Mr. Kane pokes his head in, raising his eyebrows at her comfy position.

“Lexa,” he says, sighing loudly, stepping into the room and leaning against the doorway, shaking his head. “What did I just tell you?”

 _A lot of things_ , Lexa thinks, trying to remember the specifics. He had expressed his disappointment when he found her vandalizing the east wing of the school with red spray paint and told her that her mind and skill would be put to waste if she didn’t use it to her advantage. The rest is a blur and she honestly doesn’t have the strength to remember.

“I don’t recall,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.

Mr. Kane sighs again. He does that a lot. Walking over towards her, Lexa expects him to push her feet off the table. Instead, he says, “You’re lucky today, Lexa—you have company.”

Lexa raises her eyebrows. “I do?” she says. It shouldn’t come as a surprise but it does. It’s Friday and nobody really wants to get stuck in detention when they could go out and spend time with friends. So having somebody else with her in this room for two hours is unsettling.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Kane turns his head to the side and calls, “Clarke, you can come in now.”

Lexa cranes her neck and grips the edges of her leather jacket. A girl, who looks to be way out of place in a detention room, steps inside. Her blonde hair curls near her shoulders and she’s wearing a pink sweater with white jeans. She’s holding a bunch of books in her arms while also trying to balance a laptop in one hand. She looks up nervously at Lexa and her eyes are very blue.

Lexa cracks a grin. “Clarke Griffin?” she questions. “You mean, straight-A student, winner of this year’s Science Fair, currently winning for the position as student body president? Also a candidate for valedictorian? Right. And how on earth did this happen?”

Clarke scowls at her. “Completely an accident,” she mutters.

Kane shares a look with Lexa. “She threw a rock at my office,” he explains and Clarke makes an indignant noise.

“I was just trying to knock that bird off!” Clarke heatedly says, “Bellamy dared me to do it.”

“And in the process, you broke my window,” Kane calmly says, “I honestly don’t know what to say about this, Clarke.” He pauses, leveling her with a stare. “And I believe your mother will be highly disappointed.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and does a dramatic hand gesture. Lexa watches her, smirking. “Then don’t tell her,” the blonde says, “Talk about work, or about the cheesy romcom you watched last night—don’t you dare speak a word to her about this.”

Lexa turns to Kane. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone, Mr. Principal,” she says, trying to sound offended, “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were friends.”

Kane’s lips set in a straight line. Then he reaches out and lightly pushes Lexa’s feet off the table. She rolls her eyes but keeps her boots on the ground, watching under hooded lids as he stands and walks over to Clarke, who gives him a look mostly reserved for scum.

Lexa is oddly amused.

“I’ll leave you two alone now,” he says, fixing Clarke with a look, “I expect nothing to go wrong for the next two hours.”

Lexa props her feet up against the table again. Kane doesn’t move to correct her. “Sure,” she says, already pulling her earphones from her jacket pocket. “Just don’t be too long. I still have a reputation to maintain.”

Kane rolls his eyes before turning to Clarke and whispering something to her. Clarke’s face darkens and she purses her lips. After the conversation, he pats her shoulder before heading out and shutting the door closely behind him.

Lexa pulls one of her earphones out. “What was that about?” she asks.

Clarke stiffly shakes her head. “Nothing,” she mumbles, moving to occupy the seat at front. She places all her books down and opens her laptop, hunching her shoulders forward. Lexa puts her earphones back on, letting the sounds of Metallica fill her thoughts. She purses her lips, leans back against her chair and tries to relax.

Detention usually ends up like this. Lexa’s spent most of her afternoon drumming to the sounds of _Asking Alexandria_ and sleeping with her feet propped up on the next table. But not this time. This time, she’s too busy watching Clarke as she types furiously against her laptop, the movement distracting her even if she can’t hear anything.

Clarke’s one of those killjoys, those “all work and no play” type of kids. They’ve shared classes together and Clarke’s always the smartass, the one who asks the teacher for homework or for extra credit and the one who raises her hand when no one knows the answer. She gets on Lexa’s nerves sometimes and now they’re stuck in detention together.

Talk about an equation for disaster.

Lexa lets her eyes stray. Clarke’s not too bad looking. She’s pretty, especially when she smiles. Which is considerably rare. She smiles only when she’s achieved something, like an award or the teacher’s favor or when she gets the highest mark in the test. She’d be a lot prettier, if she knew how to tame that wild hair of hers or if she learned how to not let her shoulders slouch. She’d be beyond beautiful, if she knew people were watching.

The same way Lexa is.

Clarke must sense her staring because she whips around, raising her eyebrows when Lexa doesn’t look away.

She says something but Lexa can’t hear her.

“Sorry, princess,” she says lightly, gesturing to her earphones. “Can’t hear you.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and Lexa smugly smirks before taking one of the ear buds out.

“I said;” the blonde repeats, her tone sharp, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Perhaps,” Lexa answers.

Clarke waits; Lexa’s smirk widens. “What were you and Kane talking about?” she asks.

“I thought that was none of your business,” Clarke shoots back.

Lexa shrugs. “We’re all alone here,” she remarks, “Might as well share our feelings and shit. Like that movie _The Dinner Club_.”

“ _The Breakfast Club_ ,” Clarke corrects. She turns back to her laptop, dismissing the conversation.

Lexa stares at her for a second or two before sliding out of her chair and perching herself up on the table next to the blonde. Clarke looks at her annoyance but she doesn’t stop typing. And Lexa smirks at her before reaching forward and slamming the laptop shut.

“Be careful with that!” Clarke exclaims loudly.

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Stop being such a killjoy, Griffin,” she says mockingly.

“I’m not,” Clarke argues and she slaps Lexa’s hand away. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be listening to your god awful songs?”

Lexa raises her eyebrows. “And people call me heartless,” she mutters. She watches as Clarke opens her laptop again, fingers already pounding heavily against the keyboard. She licks her lips and then sighs, shutting off her phone and tugging her earphones out.

“What are you writing?” she asks.

“College application,” Clarke answers in response.

“I highly doubt an essay concerning World War I needs to reach 5,000 words.” Lexa shifts so that her feet are lightly tapping against the leg of Clarke’s chair. She hums under her breath, her eyes falling on the way Clarke is flexing her fingers.

“This is college,” Clarke argues, “Everything needs to be perfect.”

“Didn’t peg you for a perfectionist.”

“Didn’t peg you to be a nosy one.”

Lexa closes the laptop again, softly this time and Clarke lets out a soft groan. “What the hell do you want, Lexa?” she demands hotly.

“I’m bored,” Lexa answers; Clarke’s eyes widen slightly. “I’m bored and I want you to come with me.”

“Where?”

Lexa doesn’t expect that; Clarke’s mouth drops an inch, almost as if she’s surprised as well.

“I don’t know,” Lexa honestly says, crossing her arms and tapping the ground. “Anywhere but here.”

“Aren’t we going to get in trouble for that?” Clarke asks.

“That’s the point.” Lexa shrugs. “Besides, your mom’s cozying up to Kane. I’m sure he can make an exception for you.”

Clarke’s eyes darken and she pushes her hand off from her laptop. “My mom won’t,” she mutters but then she’s shoving her laptop to her bag and she’s taking her books and she’s sliding out of chair and she’s standing in front of Lexa, eyebrows raised to the point that she’s silently challenging the brunette.

Lexa’s mouth curls. “You’re serious,” she says.

“Better than writing essays,” she answers. Lexa sees right through her but she doesn’t comment about it.

“Okay,” Lexa says. She jabs her thumb at the closed door. “Ready to walk out, Griffin?”

“I’m not a child,” Clarke mutters but she walks out and Lexa follows her.

.

Lexa jogs to her car once they’re out of the building. Her boots move noisily against the pavement and her accessories jiggle as she moves. She whips her long curly mane off one shoulder and twists around to look over at Clarke, who is approaching her warily.

“Where do you want to go?” Lexa asks, leaning against the hood of her car.

Clarke looks surprised to be addressed. “You were serious,” she says, confusion coloring her tone.

Lexa frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke truthfully says, “I thought you were just saying that so that you could slip out without me telling on you to my future step-father.”

“Nah,” Lexa says, managing a small grin, “that’d be boring plus I’m not an asshole.”

“Yes, that would be an awful high school cliché.”

Lexa taps her knee and gives the blonde a look. She looks awkward, standing there whilst holding her books close to her chest. And if she was being perfectly honest, Lexa would’ve said that they looked like they were posing for a movie poster, which features the bad girl daring the good girl to go on an adventure with her.

“Do you want to go with me?” Lexa asks.

Clarke’s throat bobs. She drops her gaze to the ground, where her foot kicks at some stones. “Well,” she says slowly, “You did offer and I’m not really in the mood to see my mom right now.”

“We’ve all got mommy problems,” Lexa remarks and Clarke stills. She continues, but with a slower pace, “and besides, we’re _teenagers_ —hormonal, rebellious kids who should be out running around the town believing that we have the whole world at the tip of our fingers. Your mom can wait, Clarke.”

The look of surprise on Clarke’s face deepens and Lexa almost nods to herself, because they both know that it’s the first time Lexa has said her name out loud, without the usual tone of dislike or mischief.

Clarke finally meets her gaze. “The ocean,” she says, her voice soft, “I want to go to the ocean.”

.

Lexa honestly doesn’t think Clarke is the nature-y type of person. Sure, she’s had a lot of ideas about the infamous Clarke Griffin—snobbish, a complete know-it-all, pretentious asshole who thinks she’s better than everyone—but she doesn’t expect the soft-spoken girl who’s already pulled out her sketchpad and who wants to go to the ocean just so that she can draw.

Apparently, Lexa doesn’t expect a lot of things.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” she says, making sure that her tone doesn’t have a mocking color to it.

Clarke looks up at her. They’ve been sitting in comfortable silence for nearly ten minutes now so the broken silence is a bit unsettling.

“You don’t know a lot of things, Lexa,” she says coolly. “What’s it to you if I know how to draw?”

“Just passing the time,” Lexa answers. There’s a pause and she glances at the person sitting next to her. “When did you start?”

“When I was six.” Clarke adjusts her position so that her chin is leaning against her knee. She turns her head to the side so that she’s facing Lexa as she talks. “My mom’s a doctor so she’s more used to fixing things rather than creating them. Anyway, my dad—” Her voice wavers but she continues—“he came home one day with a box of crayons and the minute I started to draw, nothing was holding me back.”

Lexa hums thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side. “That’s cute,” she says. She lets the silence fill the air for a few seconds before she asks, “Where’s your dad?”

“He died.” There’s no trace of emotion in Clarke’s voice, only an emptiness that makes Lexa’s chest twist on itself.

“I’m sorry.”

“About two years ago,” Clarke mutters, “Goodbyes and endings suck.”

Lexa taps her finger against the wheel of the car and lets out a sigh. “Please tell me we’re not going to start reciting lines from the movie _Bitch Perfect_ ,” she mumbles.

“ _Pitch Perfect_ ,” Clarke corrects and it does the trick because her mouth curls into a smile and her chest shakes with barely controlled laughter. “You might be big and tough, Lexa but you’re a dork; did you know that?”

Lexa rolls her eyes, turning her face to the side so that Clarke can’t see the smile on her lips.

.

The ocean is—well, she doesn’t know what the ocean is. It’s nice to look at, it’s cold, it’s blue and it’s pretty much like every body of water out there but Clarke acts like it’s the most beautiful thing in the planet and Lexa finds it endearing.

They get out of the car and the sand crunches underneath Lexa’s boots as they walk to the shore. Clarke’s left all of her books at her seat and Lexa’s disregarded her phone so there’s nothing left but the serenity and silence. They approach the cascading waves and Lexa inhales the scent of the sea, watching the eerie calm of the water.

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke says out loud.

Lexa hums in response. She reaches down and starts taking off her boots, her jeans and also her leather jacket. Clarke’s too busy trying to gather all of her colored pencils to notice what she’s doing but when she does, her mouth drops. And Lexa smirks because if that’s not a blush then she doesn’t know what that is.

“It’s rude to stare,” she says flippantly. She’s only wearing a black tank top and shorts and Clarke says something incoherent before proceeding to drop all of her materials.

“You’re seriously not going to jump in, are you?” Clarke asks once she’s done picking up her pens. Her voice has returned to normal and Lexa smirks at her.

“What’s the point of going into the beach if you’re not going to jump in?” she responds and before Clarke can answer, Lexa’s already walking into the freezing water, hissing with apprehension when she feels the cold biting at her skin. She lets out a short gasp before twisting around to look at the blonde.

Clarke is still staring, her cheeks red.

“What are you waiting for, Griffin?” Lexa taunts before she dives under, letting the water soak her.

When she comes up for air, Clarke is sitting on the sand, her sketchpad open. Her hands are working as fast as they can, moving through the pages, erasing and adding, sketching and aligning. A crease has appeared between her eyebrows and she’s biting her lower lip so hard that Lexa is surprised she hasn’t drawn blood yet. Every now and then, she looks up at Lexa, studying her and it takes Lexa a few seconds to catch up.

“Wait,” she says, paddling towards her, “Are you _drawing_ me?”

“Don’t move!” Clarke barks and Lexa stills.

“You _are_ drawing me,” Lexa says, her voice full of wonder. She’s never been anybody’s subject before and her entire body flushes with heat at the thought.

Clarke talks as she works. “Well, the lighting is perfect and you’re uhm—you’re a good model so I hope you don’t mind, which you shouldn’t. Because I’m good at this so once I’m done, you can have it.” Her blush deepens.

Lexa hums, kicking at the water as she lets her hands float around. She stays there for a few minutes or so, watching her surroundings and occasionally staring at Clarke as she works. She is right—the light is perfect. The sun is setting so the sky has traces of pink slitting through the clouds. The ocean is on the far side of town, so it’s going to take a while to get back to the city. But Lexa doesn’t say anything about it because she knows that Clarke knows.

Maybe they’re both running from something.

“Hey,” she says when the sun starts to disappear. She swims over to the shore, walking the rest of the way when her feet come in contact with the ground. Clarke is still working but she doesn’t protest when Lexa drops next to her. “It’s getting dark.”

Clarke barely raises her head. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark, Lexa.”

Lexa snorts. “Right.” She glances at the sketchpad and her breath catches in her throat when she sees just how beautiful it is. It’s not even finished and it’s still a rough sketch but Lexa can clearly see her portrait there, face turned to the side as Clarke adds a few colors to the setting sky behind her. It looks like a work of art, a masterpiece at the same level of professionals.

“You’re good,” Lexa says softly.           

“Told you,” Clarke says and Lexa sees the smile, fleeting but _there_.

Clarke finishes the sketch five minutes later, dropping her pencil and quietly passing the paper to Lexa, who holds it as if it’s a live infant. She glances down at the drawing and her heart nearly bursts out of her chest when she sees just how beautiful it is.

“Clarke,” she murmurs, struggling to get the words out.

“It’s nothing,” the blonde says, cutting her off gently. She stands, patting off the sand from her jeans before extending her hand out to Lexa, who takes it after a moment of hesitation.

The walk back to the car is silent and Lexa passes the sketchpad to Clarke, who rips off the drawing from the spring and gives it back to her. “Keep it,” she says and Lexa doesn’t know how it happens, but it does.

The falling happens.

.

Clarke suggests they go to Taco Bell and Lexa remarks, “Are we going to reenact that scene from _Lean Girls_ this time?”

Clarke bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, Lexa,” she says, laughing so hard that she’s doubled over the seat, “It’s _Mean Girls_.” She clutches at her stomach, her cheeks red and Lexa pretends not to stare but she is so she has to force herself to glare at the road in front of her. It’s not her fault she forgets popular movie references.

“I apologize for my lack of knowledge when it comes to pop culture,” she says.

“I stand by my choice of words before,” Clarke tells her, cutting off her laughter as she gives Lexa one of her rare smiles; “You—the big bad gangster of the school—are a dork.”

Lexa rolls her eyes, rolling the window and letting the wind drown out her thoughts.

“Don’t tell your step-father,” she says, “otherwise my reputation is ruined.”

“Your reputation mostly consists of leaving muddy footprints all over the floor and vandalizing school property,” Clarke points out and Lexa’s jaw hardens. There is silence before Clarke gently breaks it by saying, “Besides, he’s not my step-father. Yet.”

“Care to share?”

Clarke leans against the window, closing her eyes. Lexa allows herself a few seconds to stare before she looks away. “Not now,” the blonde murmurs, “maybe some other time.”

.

Lexa shakes Clarke’s shoulder when they’re sitting in the driveway of Taco Bell. The blonde mutters something incoherent before she raises her head and blinks sleepily at Lexa, who manages a smile.

“I thought you wanted some tacos,” Lexa remarks.

“What time is it?” she asks.

Lexa glances over at her watch—“7:52.”

Something like surprise or apprehension flashes across Clarke’s and she sits up straight, running her fingers through her messy blonde hair. Lexa leans back, watching her carefully (and also waiting for the moment she backs away.)

But Clarke just says, “Are you going to sit there and stare at me or are we going to eat?”

Lexa smiles, because it’s not an entirely horrific idea.

.

They sit on opposites of the booth and Lexa just watches as Clarke orders three varieties of tacos and two diet cokes. For a brief moment, Lexa has to wonder if Clarke’s brought along some money or if she believes that she’s buying them both dinner or if she hasn’t eaten the whole day. Lexa’s questions are answered when Clarke shoves her money at the waiter, mutters something about keeping the change and remarking that, “I’m starving—I haven’t had lunch yet.” She pushes the plate full of Grande Soft Taco at Lexa and adds, “You can have that, if you want.”

Lexa takes a bite and chews while she watches Clarke.

“You must be very busy,” she says slowly, “if you don’t even have time to eat.”

“Something like that,” Clarke answers noncommittally.

Lexa nods slowly. They spend the next few minutes in silence until finally; Clarke passes her the second diet coke and says, “My mom and Kane met in an emergency room over a year ago.”

“Oh?” Lexa raises her eyebrows but gestures for Clarke to continue.

“Kane broke his wrist trying to fix something at his house and they bickered about it when he refused to say what exactly he was trying to fix. My mom thought he was being overdramatic but Kane—well, he fell in love. Right there, while she was trying to set his wrist. And they’ve been going on and off for most of the twelve months they’ve spent seeing each other. Recently, Kane came up to me and asked if he could propose to her and I—” Clarke stops talking, looking down at the ground. Her shoulders are shaking and when she looks up; her eyes are misty and wet. “The thing is—I want my mom to be happy but I don’t want another dad.”

Lexa doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and Clarke doesn’t expect her to. The blonde continues eating her tacos and drinking her coke before she adds, “That’s why Kane’s not yet my stepdad.”

“Is your mom happy with him?” Lexa asks.

Clarke narrows her eyes. “You’re really not that scary, did you know that?” she says lightly.

“I asked you a question, Griffin.” Lexa leans back against her seat, crossing her arms and propping her boots up at the table; Clarke scowls but answers anyway,

“Yes, he makes her very happy.”

Lexa frowns, adjusting her position. “Isn’t that what matters?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke mutters, frustration coloring her tone. She stops eating; looking a bit sick and Lexa is quick to snatch the remaining Grande from the plate. “I’m already going to attend medical school—why should I—”

“Wait,” Lexa says around a mouthful of tacos, “You’re going to attend medical school?”

Clarke nods. “Yeah, my mom is hellbent on it.”

“But what about being an artist?”

“Nothing more than a hobby.”

“ _Please_.”

Clarke’s lips curl at the edges and she goes back to eating again. Lexa drops her feet from the table and leans forward, drinking her diet coke in one go.

“It’s not a hobby,” Lexa says, “It’s pretty amazing, what you can do with your hands.”

It takes a moment for the words to hit her and when it does, Clarke reaches the same conclusion. The blonde’s cheeks turn red and she stutters a reply but the words get clogged in her throat. Meanwhile, Lexa pretends to have dropped something, so that her wide eyes and pink face aren’t that noticeable when she feigns picking it up. When she faces Clarke again, her heart is racing.

“Uhm, thanks,” Clarke manages to say and she drops her gaze to her food again.

“Hurry up,” Lexa says but her cheeks are burning too much for her words to sound menacing.

She pretends not to see the grin on Clarke’s face as she finishes the last of her tacos.

.

Clarke lives on the far side of town so it takes them half an hour to get there. And by the time Lexa’s car rolls at the front of the driveway, it’s already nearing 9 PM. The stars are all out in full force and as they get out of their seats, Lexa takes a moment to admire them. She spots Orion, The Big Dipper and plenty of others, including Venus. She glances over at Clarke, who is too busy fiddling at the straps of her bag and staring at the front door.

Lexa perches herself on the hood of her car and says, “If you get killed tonight, it’s totally not my fault.”

Clarke turns towards her, sighing exasperatedly. “You’re the one who dragged me out of detention.”

“You’re the one who wanted to go to the ocean.”

“Okay, we’re both at fault!” Clarke runs her fingers through her hair and groans out loud.

Lexa taps the hood of her car. “Do I have to go in there and explain to Kane that it was totally me who dragged your ass out of detention, therefore adding another detention to our records?”

“Wait, I have to go through another detention?” Clarke demands, sounding completely shocked at the fact.

Titling her head to the side, Lexa lets out a small laugh. “Uhm, yes? That’s sort of how the school system works, Clarke.”

“Shit!”

Clarke paces at the front of her house with hurried footsteps, holding her books close to her chest and desperately trying to fix her hair. Lexa peels herself from the car and approaches her carefully, her bracelets jingling as she reaches out and puts a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, stopping her from moving too much. Clarke looks surprised by the gesture but Lexa shakes her head and pushes her forward.

“You owe me,” Lexa whispers and they walk up to the porch together.

Kane is, well, Kane. He wears his disappointment in his sleeve and gives Lexa a disapproving look when he sees her. The aura around him basically screams of suspicion and apprehension but Lexa doesn’t think too much about him because she’s too busy focusing on Abby Griffin, whose look can most likely kill a man in a second. Lexa immediately steps back once the door opens and Clarke twists around to give her a look of barely concealed fright.

“Thank you for escorting my daughter back home safely,” Abby tells Lexa, turning back to Clarke almost immediately and nodding at her.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Lexa,” Kane says, fixing her with a stern look. “Same room, same place. Do you hear me?”

Lexa shrugs but nods anyway. She glances over at Clarke, who is already looking at her, mouthing the words, “ _I’m sorry_.” The trio heads back inside and Lexa lingers for a moment or two after the door has closed, trying to hear what they’re saying but there’s only silence and she sighs, trying to ignore the gut-wrenching feeling she has in her chest.

She taps the door three times before turning around and heading back to her car, where Clarke’s drawing of her is still tucked against the seat.

.

Later that night, when she walks inside her empty room and collapses against her bed and the familiar weight of dread settles in her stomach, she remembers the reason why she didn’t want to go home in the first place.

.

Monday comes and Lexa’s got her guard up. She parks in the same place, throws a few punches at the same kids in the same corner, and walks into class at the same time—a few seconds after the bell has rung. Her muddy boots leave marks against the floor and she glares at a guy named Jasper Jordan until he slides out of his chair and moves to the front. Then she pulls out her earphones and drums her pen against the surface of her table, ignoring the teacher’s barely concealed annoyance at her actions.

She’s thinking about skipping second period when the door swings open and none other than Clarke Griffin walks in. Lexa ignores the flip in her stomach when she sees her. The blonde’s hair is messier than usual and her chest is shaking too much for it to be considered healthy. And Lexa shouldn’t really care about why she’s like that in the first place but the dread in her stomach begs to reconsider.

“Miss Griffin,” the teacher says, not too kindly and Lexa glares at the table; “Care to explain why you’re late?”

“I was up all night,” Clarke answers and the teacher stares at her for a second or two before nodding at the only vacant seat left in the classroom, which is to Lexa’s right.

(Lexa hates fate)

Clarke sits down quickly and pulls out her books, pausing only to wave at Lexa, who just nods in return. The class begins and Lexa turns her music up, to drown the teacher’s lecture and to hopefully make her forget about the golden-haired, blue-eyed girl sitting next to her.

(It doesn’t work)

.

“Hi.”

Lexa raises her head and leans back when she sees Clarke standing in front of her. Classes have already been dismissed so Lexa is back in her natural habitat—detention. It’s not a surprise that Clarke is here but it is surprising that she bothered to say hello.

There is supposed to be an unspoken rule about pretending that they don’t know each other; they’re like fire and ice, two sets that shouldn’t mix in together, an equation for disastrous consequences once they are added. Maybe Clarke didn’t get the memo; maybe Lexa’s thinking too much into it.

“Was Kane mad at you?” Lexa asks, watching as Clarke drags a chair towards her.

“Disappointed,” Clarke answers. She pauses and her eyes go hazy. “My mom was pissed though.”

“Kind of figured that out,” Lexa remarks, fiddling with the wire of her earphones. She hums under her breath and flicks her gaze over to Clarke, who glares at the floor. “What did she say?”

“Things that make a teenager’s heart twists on itself.” Clarke places her chin against her elbow and stares at the surface of Lexa’s table. Her eyes have gone dark. “She told me that skipping detention was a bad mark for my college application and that this kind of attitude could lead to a rebellious streak once I’m in university. Kane just stood there in the background while she was scolding me and I’m sort of glad that I hadn’t invited you inside. Or else things would’ve been really awkward.”

Against her better judgment, Lexa smiles. “I’m glad.”

Clarke closes her eyes briefly before turning back to Lexa again. “So,” she mutters.

“So.” Lexa cracks her knuckles and waits.

“ _Lean Girls_ , huh?”

“I thought we established that we weren’t going to bring that up anymore.”

Clarke laughs—it’s a carefree sound and Lexa has to look away. Her stomach does the thing where it flips over and she hates herself for being so reactive, especially when it comes to the other girl.

“Come on, Lexa,” Clarke says, twisting around and pulling her laptop out from her bag. “We’ve got a whole six hours to make up for our late night trip last time. Why don’t we go over and watch _Mean Girls_ this time?”

Lexa sighs, rolling her eyes. But Clarke’s already switching her laptop on and looking for the movie so she has no choice but to cave in to the wishes of the blonde. She props up her boots on the table and crosses her arms, giving Clarke a look that goes unnoticed.

“You just really want to see Lindsay Morgan before she went to rehab, right?”

Clarke stifles back a laugh as she says, “It’s Lindsay _Lohan_.”

Lexa doesn’t bother to tell her that she knows and that she only said it like that on purpose, just to see her smile.

.

They finish the movie the same time the bell rings, signaling the end of their time. Lexa moves to reach into her backpack while Clarke arranges her stuff. The blonde is chewing on her bottom lip as she turns to Lexa, who is checking the time on her phone.

“So,” Clarke mumbles and Lexa looks up.

“The movie was nice,” Lexa automatically remarks, “Still a classic.”

“I wasn’t going to ask about the movie.” Clarke takes a slow deep breath and Lexa can’t help but take a step back. She pretends not to see the flash of hurt in Clarke’s eyes as she picks up her bag. “I was wondering if I could have your number.”

At first, Lexa is confused. Then she looks down at the phone in her hand.

“Oh.”

“I was hoping that this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing or technically, a two-time thing. Especially since I have to make sure that you don’t mispronounce _Pitch Perfect_ again.” Clarke grins and Lexa stares. “So, are you up for it?”

Lexa forces down memories of abandonment and pain and heartbreak at the mention of those words. She remembers the shake in Gustus’ words, right before he left and she remembers Costia, whose smile could tear a whole heart into half and she remembers everything about her parents that ruined her, everything about her life that has broken the pieces of her being.

She’s not up for it—she’s not ready for that kind of pain, the kind of heartache that only comes when you care for someone and you let that someone care for you.

But her head and her heart are not connected and her mouth decides to go along with her heart.

“Fine,” she mutters, passing her phone.

Clarke smiles and Lexa thinks that it’s worth it.

.

She gets a text by the time she arrives home.

 

 **Unknown (6:54 PM)** : soooooo im guessing we’re friends now??

 **Lexa (6:55 PM):** Don’t push your luck.

 **Blonde Nuisance** **(6:57 PM):** but we watched a movie together!

 **Lexa (7:00 PM):** last I heard, you need consent on both sides to start a friendship.

 **Lexa (7:01 PM):** and don’t you have better things to do, Miss Perfect?

 **Blonde Nuisance (7:05 PM):** im going to take a shower and by the time I come back, you better be nicer than this.

 

And Lexa feels lighter already.

.

She doesn’t know how it happens but it does. She sees Clarke every morning, waiting for her at the top of the steps leading to the hallways and it’s a shock, when it first starts to happen but Lexa doesn’t say anything about it—she doesn’t think she can handle the hurt in Clarke’s face if she pushes her away. And somehow, after classes, Clarke manages to catch up with her, finding her at the corners of the school and sometimes by the football field. They talk about trivial things and about school and about college but sometimes the silence consumes them. Lexa doesn’t know why Clarke keeps coming back and she doesn’t know why she lets her.

(Sometimes, she has to wonder if she made a wrong move when she offered an exit in that room)

She’s sitting around on the rooftop of the highest building in school when her phone beeps and a message pops up.

 

 **Blonde Nuisance (2:43 PM):** you skipped class, didn’t you?

 **Lexa (2:45 PM):** I wasn’t aware that you had to monitor my movements.

 **Blonde Nuisance (2:45 PM):** you’re def not in eng class right now.

 **Lexa (2:46 PM):** possibly.

 **Blonde Nuisance (2:52 PM):** okay where the hell are you?

 **Lexa (2:59 PM):** rooftop. Bring snacks.

 

A few minutes later, Clarke pokes her head in from the doorway. Lexa raises her eyes towards her and waves slightly, gesturing for her to walk inside. She’s been lying against her back for half an hour now, watching the clouds moving in the sky and she’s been thinking about a lot of things but the moment she sees Clarke, she forgets everything else.

“Hi,” Clarke says, smiling shyly as she takes a seat next to her.

“Hey,” Lexa murmurs, closing her eyes. Clarke places something in her hand and her lips quirk when she realizes that it’s a bag of Doritos.

“You said to bring snacks,” Clarke remarks and her voice is soft.

Lexa opens her eyes and moves to sit up. She tears the bag open with her teeth and takes a few chips out. Clarke watches her for a moment before moving to pull her sketchpad out of her bag. She’s been drawing nonstop for a few days now and she’s never allowed Lexa to see her drawings. Lexa doesn’t mind but she is curious.

“Want some?” Lexa asks, stretching the bag out.

Clarke nods, reaching out and grabbing some chips. She shoves them into her mouth before flipping to a new page in her sketchpad. Lexa catches a glimpse of some drawings and her hand stills when she recognizes one of them.

It’s of her. Sitting at the football field with her earphones in. Somehow, Clarke got her smile right.

She moves away a bit too quickly, which prompts Clarke to drop some chips on the ground. The blonde makes a soft noise of surprise but by then Lexa’s already standing up, running her fingers through her hair and trying to control her breathing. She closes her eyes, sees Gustus by the front door, saying _“Be strong_ ” and Costia’s hands against her cheeks, kissing her on the lips one last time.

“Lexa?”

Lexa’s hands are visibly shaking as she moves to the fire exit. She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t trust herself to look back and oh _God_ —Clarke drew a picture of her and it means something—it means _everything_ but Lexa can’t go down the road anymore—she can’t bear to feel that weakness any longer.

“Lexa!” She hears Clarke getting up to her feet but Lexa is faster so she pounds through the stairs like it’s nothing and for a split second, she worries about Clarke slipping and hitting her head but her head is controlling her now and screw it—screw her _heart_.

She runs and runs and never looks back.

.

 **Blonde Nuisance (3:34 PM):** okay. You did NOT just run away because you saw that drawing.

 **Blonde Nuisance (3:35 PM):** it didn’t mean anything jfc I was just testing something out

 **Blonde Nuisance (3:37 PM):** lexa you seriously need to reply right now or I s2g im going to do something we’re both going to regret.

 **Blonde Nuisance (3:51 PM):** okay. Your car’s not in the driveway. You’re probably at home right now but I wouldn’t know because u never told me in the first place where u fucking live.

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:01 PM):** fine maybe that drawing did mean something but can u just pls let me explain?? Just because youre trying to be some badass doesn’t mean you can just shut me off like this!!

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:06 PM):** hey! i told you about my mom and kane and my dad. i never told anybody else something like that so be grateful that I freaking trust you about my personal life okay??

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:11 PM):** i can’t believe you’re giving the silent treatment right now.

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:14 PM):** lexa, you can’t shut me out like this.

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:15 PM):** you’re not some machine. you have emotions too.

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:21 PM):** lexa I saw the look in your eyes. You’re hiding something and its not good to keep it a secret, especially from a friend.

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:45 PM):** talk to me.

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:56 PM):** please.

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:57 PM):** please.

 **Blonde Nuisance (4:57 PM):** please.

 

Lexa closes her eyes and switches her phone off.

.

Here’s thing thing—love is _weakness_.

Gustus, her older brother, was everything to her. Mentor, protector, friend, _family_. He meant everything for her and she meant the same for him. They grew up together, through thick and thin, through their parents’ shouting matches and through their divorce and through nights spent crying against each other’s skin. But then their parents had died in a car accident—on the way from finalizing the divorce papers and Gustus had been whisked away from her hands.

Family services came to him in the dead of night, knocking on the door and crumbling her entire world apart. He packed his things, kissed her forehead and held her for a few seconds before the social worker pushed him along. He passed through the doorway, ducking under the frame ( _he was that tall_ ) before he turned back towards her. He smiled and his voice was trembling, nearly cracking when he said, “ _Be strong_.”

She never saw him again. A new family adopted her—a woman named Indra gave way for Lexa into her humble home. She was strict and sharp around the edges but she never raised her voice and she never harmed Lexa in any way—and that was better than nothing, Lexa supposed. So she stayed.

She stayed and then she met Costia.

Costia, whose curly mane was beautiful, whose voice could soothe a thousand raging battles, whose love for Lexa was real and whole and _right_. Costia, whose lips always tasted of coffee and lip gloss. Costia, who whispered sweet nothings against her skin when they were alone. Costia, whose name now brings bitterness and pain against Lexa’s mouth.

Their relationship had been short-lived. Eventually, Costia had to move to Ireland, breaking up with Lexa the night before her flight. It ruined her, tore her heart apart because Gustus had left her and now Costia was doing the same thing.

Love is _weakness_. It left her weak and broken and _shattered_ and she promised herself she wasn’t going to go down that road anymore.

But then Clarke happened.

.

She hates herself for doing this—for letting Clarke in, for letting all her guard down, for _forgetting_. Clarke is nothing more than a passing distraction—she’ll leave for university, she’ll leave Lexa, the way they always do and it shouldn’t hurt but it does.

She walks into classes because she has nothing better to do. She listens to the teachers and she copies down notes. She skips the only classes she shares with Clarke. She avoids the rooftop and she avoids detention and she avoids her phone. She picks a few fights from the kids down the street and barely manages to escape with a twisted wrist and a bruise against her cheek. She’s trying to do everything to move on but she’s barely budged from her place.

On Friday afternoon, she walks out of her English class with her shoulders slouched and her earphones tightly plugged in. She’s listening to Metallica and shoving kids out of the way and jogging up to her car when she sees the flash of blonde from where she’s parked her vehicle.

Slowing down, Lexa acknowledges the fact that her heart rate has quickened considerably.

“Clarke,” she says out loud, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

The blonde looks up. She’s leaning against Lexa’s car, arms crossed and there are shadows under her blue eyes. Their gazes meet and for a second, Lexa sees the pain she’s caused the other girl, the pain she had carefully tried to avoid.

“You asshat,” Clarke grumbles, letting her arms fall against her sides.

“What are you doing here?” Lexa asks.

“Oh, nothing, I was just admiring the view—you fucking idiot, of course I came here to talk to you!” Clarke’s anger is like a volcano; explosive and full, with nothing holding her back. She takes a long stride towards Lexa, who backs up a step. “You and me? We need to talk.”

“You and _I,_ ” Lexa corrects but Clarke doesn’t have time for her games because she’s twisting around and sliding into the shotgun seat, slamming the door shut behind and raising her eyebrows at Lexa, taunting her to protest.

Lexa doesn’t have it in her. So she sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat, as walks around the car to get into the driver’s seat. When she’s settled in next to Clarke, she starts the engine and turns towards her, trying to ignore the gaping pit of silence in their space.  

“Where do you want to go?” she asks.

Clarke doesn’t miss a beat. “The ocean,” she says, turning to look at her.

And it’s recklessly beautiful, how Lexa’s heart doesn’t stop pounding, especially when she doesn’t want it to start in the first place.

.

The ocean is the same when they ride up across the shore. Same view, same scenery, same scent. Lexa’s hands fall against the wheel uselessly as the engine cuts off and then there’s that damning silence again, the kind that makes Lexa nervous for all the wrong reasons. She looks over at Clarke, who is staring at her hands.

“Do you want to—?” Lexa begins but Clarke cuts her off,

“No, this is good.”

Drumming her fingers against her knee, Lexa twists her upper torso so that they’re facing each other. And don’t get her wrong—she hates the thought of talking to Clarke about why she ran away in the first place, hates the fact that her walls are going to crumble any second now (the same way it had crumbled with Gustus), hates the reminder that Clarke got under her skin the moment they set eyes on each other.

“You wanted to talk,” Lexa mutters, keeping her eyes trained on the space between Clarke’s feet.

“Why did you run away, when you saw that drawing?” Clarke asks.

Lexa’s jaw hardens. She turns away, clenching her hands. She doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t want to keep doing this to herself, doesn’t want to keep letting Clarke in but then she hears the blonde sigh and her heart jumps in her throat when Clarke takes her hand.

“Tell me,” Clarke says fiercely and yeah, Lexa’s stomach is flipping all over the place.   

“I ran away because—” Lexa swallows, “because I push everybody when they get too close.”

And there it is. That’s the simplest truth that she can say out loud and the words are what they are. She can go on and on about her parents, about Gustus and about Costia but she’s never been too good about details and she highly doubts she has enough time to talk about her feelings, which she’s never known how to do.

Clarke’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh.” She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans closer until there is barely a few inches left between them. “Do you mind telling me?”

Lexa’s mouth trembles slightly but she forces herself not to look away. “I have a brother,” she says, “His name is Gustus. We were inseparable. He loved me. He protected me. He _cared_ for me. But then our parents died and family services took him away. I haven’t seen him since.”

“Is that why you run away from people who could possibly care for you?” Clarke asks softly, “Because if you run before they leave, then it won’t hurt as much?”

Lexa’s lips twitch. “Love is weakness, Clarke Griffin,” she murmurs.

And it _is_ weakness, because of the way Clarke is looking at her and because of the way Lexa’s heart refuses to slow down.

.

 **Blonde Nuisance (7:07 PM):** i don’t think im letting you out of my sights ever again.

 **Lexa (7:09 PM):** am i supposed to be jumping for joy now?

 **Blonde Nuisance (7:09 PM):** im serious, lexa.

 **Blonde Nuisance (7:10 PM):** and don’t worry.

 **Blonde Nuisance (7:10 PM):** im not going to leave you.

 **Lexa (7:14 PM):** i really don’t know what to say to that, Clarke.

 **Clarke (7:15 PM):** you dont have to say anything.

 **Clarke (7:16 PM):** im here for you.

 

Yeah, Lexa is really starting to hate herself for being so weak.

.

.

 **Clarke (11:32 AM):** do u want to watch a movie??

 **Lexa (11:34 AM):** its Saturday. Don’t you have better things to do?

 **Clarke (11:35 AM):** well duh. like watching a move with my friend.

 **Lexa (11:36 AM):** I was under the impression that you had other friends.

 **Clarke (11:36 AM):** do i have to spell it out for you??

 **Clarke (11:37 AM):** i want to watch a movie with YOU!!

 **Clarke (11:39 AM):** god is that so hard to figure out??

 **Clarke (11:41 AM):** lexa u there?

 **Clarke (11:45 AM):** im going to pretend that u went for a bathroom break.

 **Clarke (11:51 AM):** lexa?

 **Lexa (11:53 AM):** open your front door. I’m outside.

 **Clarke (11:55 AM):** i knew you’d come.

 **Clarke (11:55 AM):** :)

.

A few minutes later, Lexa has her feet propped up on Clarke’s bedside table and is leaning back against the pillows. She’s thrown her boots across the room and has settled in front of Clarke’s laptop. The room is normal, with a few movie posters on the walls and a study table filled with sketches and drawings. Clarke’s books are all piled nearly in her shelves and there are several pencils in a glass jar, colored pens in another, an assorted pile of ornaments in a third one.

She’s skimming through a bunch of 9GAG since Clarke is in the bathroom, changing into something a bit more comfortable. Her mouth twitches at the sight of a cat fitting itself in a fish bowl when the bathroom door opens and Clarke steps inside.

Lexa makes the mistake of glancing up and when she does, her mouth nearly drops open.

Clarke is wearing a loose artsy shirt, showing off her collarbones and bra straps. Her incredibly _short_ shorts barely skim her thighs and Lexa snaps her gaze away before Clarke can notice.

“What movie should we watch?” Clarke asks, sliding on the empty space next to Lexa.

Lexa firmly locks her gaze on the screen in front of her. “Your choice, Clarke,” she says and she closes her eyes briefly when she hears her own voice quivering.

Clarke doesn’t comment. Instead, she reaches for her laptop and skims through her list of movies. Lexa rolls her hands into fists and shifts her position so that they’re not touching in any way. Clarke, however, seems to have other plans. She presses her shoulder close to Lexa when she suggests that they watch _Big Hero Six_.

Lexa agrees without thinking too much about it.

Clarke goes downstairs to get some popcorn and during that duration of time, Lexa runs through a multitude of things, trying to remember how the hell she ended up in this position in the first place. She bites her lower lip as she tries to find some sort of barrier to separate the two of them. She shudders to think about what it’d be like to be nestled in next to the blonde and she can’t help but think of Costia instead—and of how she felt whenever they were together.

The lines are seriously starting to blur together.

When Clarke comes back whilst holding a huge bowl of popcorn, Lexa has somehow managed to place two sets of pillows in the middle of the bed, with the laptop lying on top of it. Clarke rolls her eyes when she sees the arrangement.

“You do realize that I’m a hugger, right?” Clarke says.

“Then go ahead and hug the pillow,” Lexa mutters.

“I like hugging something _warm_ ,” Clarke tells her.

Lexa stiffens and if Clarke notices, she doesn’t comment. There’s a fire inside her cheeks and she can’t seem to ignore the way her heart has completely jumpstarted at the thought of Clarke sitting next to her, arms thrown across her waist and mouth dangerously close—

Lexa’s thoughts are cut off when Clarke sits down and places all the pillows against her back. She puts down the popcorn and reaches for Lexa’s wrist, pulling her close so that they’re touching again.

“Come _on_!” Clarke says lightly, grinning. “You can’t watch the movie properly if you’re sitting that far.”

Lexa clenches her jaw as she tries to relax. Clarke claps her hands together and then the lights switch off. She presses play and then the movie starts.

 _Equation for disaster,_ Lexa thinks bitterly.

.

Clarke is crying by the time Tadashi’s face appears on Baymax’s screen. They’re in a remarkably comfortable position, Clarke’s head against Lexa’s shoulder, her legs curled underneath her. Lexa, however, has been sitting still for nearly an hour now; in fear that if she moves, Clarke might hold on tighter. She can’t let her emotions take control, especially since the blonde seems to be sending mixed signals.

Somehow, during the duration of the movie, they’ve reached the point of holding hands. Clarke is running her thumb over Lexa’s palm, absentmindedly tracing patterns and Lexa is so focused on the movement that she barely watches the movie altogether.

“ _I’m not giving up on you_ ,” Tadashi says, looking hopefully at the screen.

Clarke stiffens next to her and Lexa can almost feel her heart breaking at the words. _Stay strong_ , Gustus had said, before he left. _I love you_ , Costia had whispered, right before she jumped into her car and flew to the other side of the world. She remembers Clarke’s text and her heart twists on itself. _I’m not going to leave you_.

She’s staring at Clarke now, heedless of the fact that Hiro is already talking to the gang. Clarke’s eyes are firmly locked on the screen but she must sense Lexa watching because she sneaks a glance.

Lexa looks away.

Clarke continues to run circles against her skin.

.

Clarke loses it again when Hiro has to let Baymax go and Lexa would’ve teared up a bit, if it isn’t for the fact that Clarke looks endearingly adorable with her watery eyes and trembling mouth. Clarke is still holding her hand, still running patterns against her skin and Lexa focuses on the movement, trying to keep her eyes fixed on the screen.

“ _Please! No, I can’t lose you too_!” Hiro says shakily.

“ _Hiro_ ,” Baymax states, “ _I will always be with you_.”

Clarke takes a shuddering breath as she shifts her weight, leaning against Lexa more comfortably. “That’s what my dad said,” she murmurs, “before the cancer took him.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says.

“Don’t be,” Clarke tells her gently, closing her eyes. She opens them again and then twists around so that she’s facing Lexa. Completely ignoring the fact that the movie is still playing, she reaches forward and tugs on an unruly strand of Lexa’s hair, frowning slightly. “Your eyes are forest green, did you know that?”

“O— _kay_ then,” Lexa says, immediately peeling herself away from Clarke’s prying hands. “I think you’re getting mushy over here, Griffin.”

“Wait,” Clarke says, grabbing her wrist and Lexa’s breath catches in her throat. “Don’t go.”

Against her better judgment, Lexa forces herself to relax. Clarke’s lips twitch into a smile and Lexa curses herself for being so weak around the other girl. She can’t help it though—Clarke has a certain pull that makes everybody gravitate towards her.

And Clarke is using that pull to her advantage at this moment because she’s looking at Lexa carefully, her eyes dropping to her lips and Lexa is not imagining the anxiety in her blue eyes nor the shaky breath she takes as she leans forward. Their mouths are barely inches apart (and Lexa is trying to take a leap of faith here _because it’s been so long since she’s had real human contact_ and Clarke is willing and she’s actually smiling and holy _shit_ —is this actually going to happen?) The unvoiced question is nearly answered when the door swings open and Kane pokes his head in.

Lexa jumps back and Clarke growls in her throat.

“Lexa,” Kane says, surprise evident in his tone. Lexa protectively crosses her arms across her chest. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Same,” Lexa grumbles, moving out of the bed as Clarke presses the pause button on the movie.

The blonde turns to her almost step-father. “Is there something you needed?” she asks, her voice snide.

Lexa hides back a grin.

“Nothing, really,” Kane says lightly, “Your mom wanted me to check on you.”

“Well, I’m here.” Clarke’s tone has a certain bite to it, one that makes Lexa smile with pride. “And I have Lexa over and we’re watching a movie.”

“I can see that.”

“Good. Then what are you still doing here?”

“Apparently wasting my time.” He nods at Clarke and then Lexa before shutting the door behind him. Lexa spots a hint of a smile against his lips and flushes.

Clarke turns back to Lexa. “Are you just going to stand there or are we going to finish this movie?” she asks.

“We both know what’s going to happen,” Lexa says, sliding back to the empty space she occupied a second ago. “This is _Disney_ —they’re going to find a happy ending, like always.”

“Don’t be such a sour cat,” Clarke says, punching her shoulder lightly, “and don’t spoil. I hate spoilers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Clarke smiles down at her popcorn and this time, it’s Lexa who reaches out to intertwine their fingers together. She pretends not to see Clarke’s smile widening a fraction.

.

They decide to watch two more movies ( _I love you Beth Cooper_ and _Pitch Perfect_.) Clarke apparently has a thing for romcoms and Lexa honestly thinks it’s annoying when it comes to other people but it’s endearingly adorable when it comes to Clarke Griffin.

By the time 7 PM rolls around, Clarke’s already starting to doze off. They’re nearly finished with _Pitch Perfect_. Lexa has her eyes glued to the screen since she has to admit that the last performance is spectacular. Becca’s walking towards Jesse; smiling goofily (Lexa rolls her eyes because Becca and Chloe have such _wasted_ potential) with every intention to kiss him when Clarke’s head drops on Lexa’s shoulder and she starts snoring.

Lexa nearly jumps. She’s such a foreigner to physical affection that she literally has no idea what to do when she’s presented with it. She thinks that she should move or something or that she should at least wake Clarke up but when she shifts slightly to the right, Clarke lets out a low moan and buries her nose against Lexa’s mane of curly hair.

“Clarke,” she says, her voice an octave higher than usual.

Clarke doesn’t wake. Instead, she wraps her arms around Lexa’s waist and sighs in content. Lexa’s stiff all over and her heart’s pounding loudly inside her chest. She grits her teeth when she realizes just how _warm_ Clarke is, like a blanket in the middle of the cold night.

“Clarke,” she tries again.

Clarke mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, “Five more minutes.”

“I have to go home,” Lexa says, knowing that Indra would have a fit if her adopted daughter didn’t come home on time.

“Please don’t leave,” Clarke murmurs. She seems to be half asleep now, mumbling nonsense and Lexa’s about to gently wake her up when the blonde adds, “Everybody always leaves.”

Lexa tenses because the sorrow and pain in Clarke’s tone is unmistakable. It reaches out and twists her heart in the worst way possible and she takes a deep, shuddering breath before relaxing against the covers of the bed, letting Clarke’s arms stay around her body. She doesn’t say anything because Clarke’s asleep and her words would just fall on deaf ears but she wonders if _this_ is what Clarke wants, if all those signs from before are finally just coming to stop here.

Lexa reaches down and traces the contours of Clarke’s face. The movie ends and there’s only silence left but she can feel the rapid thundering of her heart inside her ribcage, almost like a reminder of how much Clarke has come to mean to her and how much ( _damn her for thinking such cruel thoughts_ ) Lexa has grown to care for her.

She closes her eyes, falling asleep to the sounds of Clarke breathing softly besides her.

.

“You stayed,” Clarke tells her on Monday morning, when Lexa’s already seated in English class. The blonde’s face is radiant, like a sun rising from a cold night and Lexa dips her head down in a small nod, trying to bite back a smile that seems inevitable.

“I did,” she says, watching as Clarke takes a seat next to her.

“God, you’re a dork.”

Lexa taps her fingers against the surface of her desk, biting the inside of her cheek. “Well, you wanted me to stay so I did. That’s what friends do, right?”

Clarke nods, grinning widely and Lexa feels a flutter in her chest. “Aw,” the other girl says, reaching forward and shaking Lexa’s shoulder lightly. “You _do_ care. And here I was, thinking that you were the oh so heartless bad girl of the school.”

“I vandalize school property, Clarke.” Lexa props her chin against her hand. “I don’t think that hardly qualifies as bad girl qualities.”

“You beat John Murphy’s face this morning.”

“I did? Must’ve forgotten.”

Clarke grins again and Lexa stares, silently thanking Kane for shoving them both into detention that fateful Friday afternoon.

.

“Don’t you have other friends, Clarke?” Lexa asks when its lunch time and they’re both lazily lounging at the rooftop.

Clarke’s stationed near the door, her sketchpad open and a bag of Lays sitting next to her feet. Her blonde hair is carelessly tied in a bun but wisps of it curl near her cheeks. She looks, as she always does, beautiful.

“I do have other friends,” Clarke says, reaching for a potato chip, “but I like you better.”

Lexa tries not to flush at the compliment as she perches herself on her elbows, looking over at Clarke, who doesn’t look up at her.

“You like me, huh?” Lexa says.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Clarke murmurs, still drawing, “You’re pretty and you make stupid jokes even though you don’t mean to. You actually come when I ask you to. You don’t leave. You may seem all rough and tragic but you’re actually a big raccoon.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “Raccoon?” she echoes.

Clarke looks at her quickly, pointing at her eyeliner. “Raccoon,” she repeats.

“Ha ha,” Lexa mutters, crawling over to where Clarke’s sitting. She grabs a few chips and quietly chews them, watching as Clarke turns to a new page of her sketchpad. “Have you decided yet?” she asks.

Clarke raises her head, looking at her. “About what?”

“College,” Lexa says gently.

“Med school,” Clarke answers, her voice quiet. The mood has changed drastically. “It’s what my mom wants.”

“But not you.”

“Not me.” Clarke nods.

Lexa looks away but not before she asks, “And what would your father say?”

Clarke is quiet for a few minutes. There is silence, except for the scraping of pencil against paper and the rustle of the wind and the crunching of chips in Lexa’s mouth. Finally, Clarke sighs.

“He’d tell me to go after what I want,” the blonde answers and Lexa turns to her again.

“And what do you want, Clarke?”

Clarke bites her lower lip, staring down at her sketchpad before she turns back to Lexa, her eyes wide and terrified—full of fear and of apprehension. She takes a deep inhale, her gaze never leaving Lexa’s and her mouth trembles slightly when she murmurs, “I want something that I can never have.”

Lexa nods, listening. Clarke’s fingers shake against her sketchpad and she licks her lips after she’s shut it.

“Did I ever tell you about Wells?” she asks.

Lexa shakes her head. “You’ve never mentioned the name.”

“He was my best friend,” Clarke continues, her voice flat, “Since childhood, I guess. After my dad died, he was the only thing keeping me together. He visited a lot and we watched movies together and he made me forget about the pain. But then—one night, he was killed. Some guy shot him in the face due to a mugging gone wrong. Wells was about to hand him his money but still, the guy shot him. Dead on the sidewalk. That was a year ago. It still hurts to think about him.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says softly; Clarke nods.

Lexa wants to tell her about Costia too, about how it still hurts to think about the one girl she loved more than anyone else—possibly more than Gustus—but before she can do so, Clarke is speaking again.

“Then there was Finn.”

Lexa frowns. The way Clarke’s says his name—like it’s a prayer—seems slightly alarming.

“Who was he?” Lexa asks.

Clarke runs her fingers against her sketchpad, clutching it tightly with both hands. “He was my boyfriend,” she says, looking at Lexa carefully. “A few months ago, he waltzed into my life and stole my heart. He told me he loved me but then—well, I found out he had another girlfriend and that he was just using me as a means to forget about the fact that she was too far away for his liking. Long distance, you know? I broke up with him and he left. Simple as that.”

“He sounds like an ass.”

“He _was_ an ass.” Clarke’s lips twitches into a grin as she ducks her head. “Everything I love or want goes away.”

Lexa says nothing. She feels as if this is precautious moment, almost as if she’s walking on eggshells. Clarke has just bared her entire fear in front of her and Lexa doesn’t know what to do with the information she’s been handed with. Taking a sharp intake of breath, Lexa reaches forward and intertwines their hands together.

“I lost someone special to me too,” Lexa says quietly.

Clarke turns to look at her, eyes shining. Lexa ignores the bile rising in her throat when she remembers the pain of being abandoned and how it seemed to cut her heart with a sharp piece of glass.

“Her name was Costia,” Lexa continues, “After Gustus left and I was given to Indra’s care, I was going through a rough patch. That’s how Costia found me—broken and so _angry_. She fixed me, rebuilding what was shattered by my parents and by my brother and I—I loved her more than anything else in the world. She was so beautiful, so regal, and so full of life. But then she left, the way they always do. She broke up with me right before her flight to Ireland, told me that she loved me.” Lexa clenches her jaw. “You don’t leave the ones you love.”

Clarke runs her fingers against Lexa’s arms; Lexa shivers. “Sometimes, we don’t have a choice,” the blonde murmurs, blue eyes locking with hers.

Lexa swallows. “Clarke—” she starts to say when Clarke closes her eyes and leans close. Their mouths are barely inches apart and all Lexa has to do is take a leap of faith, take a step forward and she could be happy.

(She could be happy.)

Happiness has never been a part of her life.

She pulls away before she does something she’ll regret later on.

“Lexa,” Clarke whispers, a slight whine in her tone.

“Don’t.” Lexa moves to stand to her feet and there is hurt all over Clarke's features. “We shouldn’t do this.”

Her heart is pounding rapidly inside her chest as she runs her fingers through her thick hair, trying to stay calm. Taking a deep breath, she rolls her hands into fists to stop the shaking but it’s not working and her cheeks feel too _hot_ and there seems to be something wringing her heart from inside out.

“Lexa.” There’s a scuffling noise and then Clarke is standing behind her.

“Clarke, please—”

“You don’t have to pretend anymore!” Clarke says, her voice rising and Lexa clenches her jaw, turns around to give her a glare. Clarke’s cheeks are flushed and there’s an angry fire in her eyes. “And we both know that it’s what you’ve been doing—pretending not to feel anything, pretending to be stoic or heartless—and it’s time to stop the act.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Lexa snaps.

“Really?” Clarke lets out a humorless laugh. “Cause I have a pretty good guess.”

Lexa says nothing, clenching her jaw so tight that she feels as if she’s going to crush her teeth. Clarke takes a step closer.

“You keep saying that _love is weakness_ crap and yet, you don’t even realize what’s happening. You say that having feelings makes people weak but you’re weak for _hiding_ from them. I might be a bitch, Lexa, but you’re a liar.” Clarke’s voice is dangerously low and Lexa has to take a step back. Clarke’s blue eyes remind her of the calm before the storm, the peace before a disaster.

Lexa can feel her heart slamming against her ribcage and her feet are moving on its own, taking her back near the edge of the railing. Clarke follows, still talking and there’s a bite in her voice and oh _God_ , she’s pissed.

“You felt something when Gustus left, you’re still haunted by Costia, you want everyone to think you’re above it all but I see right through you,” Clarke spits and _thud_ —Lexa’s hands come in contact with the railing behind her, clutching on for dear life while Clarke stops walking, staring hard at her., her lips set in a straight line.

Lexa inhales sharply. “Get out,” she snarls.

“There’s nobody left, Lexa,” Clarke says, after a moment of silence and it’s not a question, just a fact being stated. Her voice not only holds anger but a painful curiosity as well. “You push away everybody who could possibly care about you.”

Lexa swallows again. “Not everyone,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. She can feel tears prickling the back of her eyes. “Not you.”

Clarke blinks and then takes a step back. Her eyes are wide and her lips have parted.

(Lexa wants nothing more than for the ground to swallow her.)

“Lexa,” Clarke starts, “I—”

Lexa purses her lips. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I just can’t—I don’t know if I can bear it.”

Clarke’s gaze becomes less harsh. She pulls away, looking down at the ground. When she looks up to meet Lexa’s stare, her eyes have gone soft.

“I’m not going to force you,” Clarke says.

“Clarke,” Lexa says, her voice shaking now.

“You know where to find me,” the blonde tells her and Lexa realizes that she’s been given a choice. It should be funny, considering the fact that she has never been given the choice on the people whom she wants to leave and whom she wants to stay.

Lexa swallows again as she watches Clarke walking away.

.

Later that night, while she’s listening to music and taking a jog around the neighborhood, Lexa thinks back to how incredibly beautiful Clarke is when she laughs or when she smiles or when she’s doodling around in her notebook and pretending to listen to the teacher. She thinks back to how affectionate Clarke is around her, holding her hand and always touching her in some ways. She thinks back to Clarke’s flushed cheeks whenever Lexa says something embarrassing or the twinkle in her eyes whenever Lexa comments her drawings.

She thinks back to Clarke and how her entire life seems to have brightened at the thought of her.

She thinks back to how incredibly lucky she is.

Lexa stops running, coming to a stop near a park. She places her hands on her waist and pulls off her earphones. Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and tries to fight off the hurt look in Clarke’s face when she pulled away.

 _This is stupid_ , she thinks to herself angrily, _This is crazy. We’re_ bad _for each other—she’s perfect, she’s amazing and I’m just some pissed off teenager who can get away from her emotions by punching someone on the face._

It _is_ stupid but it doesn’t stop the ache in her chest.

She bites her lower lip and collapses to the ground, pulling off her hair tie. She runs her fingers through her curly mane, glaring at the ground as she tries to get back the breath that she’s lost at the thought of Clarke Griffin. Her heart feels as if it’s being squeezed by an unknown fist and she _knows_ —God, she just knows that from the minute Clarke Griffin walked into detention, she was a goner.

She clenches her jaw.

God damn it.

She’s in love with Clarke Griffin. It’s a fact. Nothing can change it.

“And only I can fix it,” she mutters to herself.

She reaches into her pocket and sends a quick text to the blonde in question.

 

 **Lexa (7:45 PM):** hey

 **Clarke (7:45 PM):** hey.

 **Lexa (7:47 PM):** Are you free right now? I want to talk.

 **Clarke (7:48 PM):** where are you?

 **Lexa (7:49 PM):** actually I was wondering if I could go to your place. I’m actually just a few blocks away.

 **Clarke (7:51 PM):** okay. I’ll see you later then.

 **Lexa (7:51 PM):** right. See you soon.

 

Lexa tucks her phone back into her pocket and starts running again.

.

Clarke’s sitting on the porch swing by the time Lexa’s arrived. She’s wearing a white sweater that seems too loose against her shoulders with another pair of short shorts. A grey beanie is topped on her head and she looks cute, swinging her legs forward and back, obviously waiting for Lexa to arrive. When she exhales, her breath can be seen.

“Clarke,” Lexa calls out, stopping short in front of the steps.

Clarke raises her head. Her blue eyes are bright and sharp, her cheeks flushed with the cold.

“Hi,” the blonde says, her gaze trailing down Lexa’s body. Lexa tries not to blush.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Lexa mumbles, climbing the steps slowly. Clarke stops swinging her legs, giving her a curious look. “It was out of hand and I shouldn’t have rejected you like that. I was in the wrong and I apologize—”

“Lexa,” Clarke cuts in gently, “you don’t have to sound so formal about it.”

Lexa laughs quietly. She’s reached the top step but she’s still not sure if she’s allowed to come any closer.

Clarke starts swinging her legs again. “Besides,” she says, tone light and teasing, “you did just come crawling back to me after like a few hours apart so I guess I can forgive you.”

“You make me sound so clingy,” Lexa remarks.

“Yeah, well—that’s partly your fault.”

It feels as if they’re treading on uneven ground or on thin ice, almost to the point that Lexa feels as if a wrong word can ruin everything. It’s understandable, however, considering that this is the moment where Lexa can either crawl back to the stoic façade she has or where she can reach out and actually get what she wants.

And she wants Clarke more than anything right now.

“What do you choose, Lexa?” Clarke asks, not looking at her but rather at her moving feet.

Lexa doesn’t answer. Instead, she perches herself on the empty space next to Clarke, keeping her hands on her lap. Clarke nods her consent before pushing the swing back with her feet. As the swing moves, Lexa turns towards Clarke, her eyes hooded.

“You and I both know how messy we are, Clarke,” Lexa says, “Everything we touch goes away.”

“Or dies,” Clarke mutters, locking eyes with her.

“And I—” Lexa’s breath catches in her throat and she closes her eyes briefly, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Clarke takes her hand. Her fingers are soft, warm.

“It’s not like you love me _that_ way, Lexa,” Clarke says, her voice quiet, “and I just—”

“But I do,” Lexa interrupts and her heart nearly gives out inside her chest. Her cheeks burn and her breath rattles. She turns to Clarke, tears prickling the back of her eyes. “I—I’m actually in love with you.”

Using her free hand, Lexa reaches into her back pocket, where her wallet is. She opens it and then pulls out the drawing Clarke had first made of her—back when they ventured off towards the ocean. It’s worn off due to the many times Lexa has opened and closed it. She presents the sketch to Clarke, whose eyes soften at the sight of it.

“I am in love with you,” Lexa states firmly, keeping her eyes trained on Clarke, “and I do not want to mess it up.”

Clarke inhales sharply. Lexa looks down, touches Clarke’s fingers with a quiet sense of reverence.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she murmurs.

“Lexa,” Clarke says, tugging at her hand. She twists around so that they’re facing each other properly and Clarke has this small, soft smile against her lips. “Kane just proposed to my mom today. I told him to.”

“Oh?” Lexa’s eyebrows knit together. It’s not the reaction she expected.

“And it made me realize something,” Clarke whispers, leaning in close, “If my mom can be happy, even after what happened to my dad, then I can be happy as well.” She lets out a breath that she seems to be holding in and there seems to be stars twinkling inside her eyes.

Lexa drops her gaze to the curve of Clarke’s lips. They’re barely inches apart now and damn anybody who wants to get in the way of this.

“And I want to be happy with you,” Clarke whispers, “so I’m not going to leave.”

Lexa puts her hand against the back of Clarke’s neck and pulls her in. Their lips meet and it’s soft, chaste—as first kisses should be and Lexa feels as if a part of her (the part Gustus took when he was taken away, the part Costia shattered when she left) has returned, mending softly with the rest of her heart. Clarke tastes of second chances and new beginnings and Lexa would do anything for it to stay that way.

It’s not a happy ending, not yet anyway, but its close enough.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> See? Totally messy. But I liked writing it so I'm super glad that I finished it. 
> 
> If you want to cry about Clexa or about Clarke Griffin, you can find me at heyasscroft.tumblr.com
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos or comments! It always helps.


End file.
